


The Shambles

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [28]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Gen, Marriage, Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hisana undergoes the inquisition. Byakuya feels the pains of reconstruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shambles

Pale skin follows the lines of her jaw closely, tightly. She looks like snow, undisturbed. Red are her robes, and black falls the hair down her shoulders. There is heat in her stare, and there are flames in her step.

Quietly, deathly, she moves. One foot steps in front of the other. Silent are her movements as she settles in her seat. A faraway look clouds her eyes, conceals her features.

Byakuya remembers that look. It is the courtesan's calling card. The cold, wintry posture and that mile-long look lodged in their eyes. No other woman could ever capture the courtesan's gaze. Its beauty is in its transcendence. Neither the realms of the Living nor the Spiritual could leave a mark on their souls. With a glimpse, they could level a warlord—or so went the myths.

Perhaps there is truth in the legends, Byakuya muses as he watches the activity in the chamber strangle under Hisana's cold, faraway gaze.

"Lady Kuchiki," Suì-Fēng's strident voice appears immune to his wife's chill.

"Yes," Hisana answers. Her voice is gentle, contrasting starkly with her glacial expression.

"Were you familiar with Captain Aizen?"

"Yes."

"Intimately or professionally?"

"Professionally."

"In what manner?"

Hisana closes her eyes briefly and inhales a deep breath, like a dove sloughing the snow from its feathers. "I am unsure of your meaning."

"Let me rephrase that. When did you first encounter Captain Aizen?"

"Many years ago. The number? I do not recall."

Suì-Fēng cocks a brow, and her lips slide into a frown. "You were just an oiran prior to becoming the Matriarch of the Kuchiki Family, correct?"

"I do not share your characterization of my role," Hisana murmurs, gaze shifting to the middle distance, as if she has grown tired of her dialogue with Suì-Fēng.

"As an oiran or as a matriarch?"

"Either, but continue."

Suì-Fēng bristles at the sudden classism undulating in Hisana's polite command. The Captain of the Second is the  _one who's supposed to be running the interrogation_ , public or no. But, there it is. It is a strange dichotomy. Suì-Fēng may exceed Lady Kuchiki in the ranks, but, then again, Lady Kuchiki is not a solider, nor is she subject to the hierarchy of the Gotei 13; it isn't the Lady's sphere. Suì-Fēng, however, is Hisana's lesser in the public sphere—the space that exists  _beyond_  military life. As a captain, however, Suì-Fēng should be, socially, at least, on equal footing with the rags-to-riches Lady of the Kuchiki. Right? This sudden doubt, needles Suì-Fēng, and she regroups, gathers herself, and, once she locates her composure, she continues with the inquiry.

"As an oiran, you served many powerful men, correct?"

Hisana lifts her head and catches a glimpse of Suì-Fēng. "I fail to see the relevance of your question. Either way, I dispute your characterization of  _many_. I did not serve  _many_ men."

Byakuya's gaze narrows at the sudden change in Suì-Fēng's trajectory of questioning. His reservations, however, are shared. A stirring of white haori indicates that Ukitake observes the procedural flaw of relevance; however, there is no one to call Suì-Fēng's methods into question. Captains, of course, may voice their concerns, and their opinions all share equal weight, with the exception of the Captain-Commander, whose word is final. No one, however, wishes to enter this particular battle. Fears that the Captain of the Second will take greater liberties later on stay their tongues. No need to bicker over infractions so soon.

"You served Captain Aizen?" Suì-Fēng inhales a deep breath and places her hands on her hips. It is easy prey.

"I served Captain Aizen tea perhaps thrice in my life." Hisana does not equivocate. Her words are soft and even.

"Nothing more?" Suì-Fēng cocks a brow, suggestively.

Silence, cold and dank, fills the space between the Captain of the Second and Hisana.

"Nothing more." Hisana pauses briefly, debating whether to elaborate. "Captain Aizen did not seem particularly keen on female companionship. At least, he was not keen on the kind that you seem to be suggesting."

Suì-Fēng quirks a brow at this. "I insinuated nothing."

Hisana's icy stare melts as she pins the Captain of the Second with a look. It is a silent calling out of motives.

"If Captain Aizen was disinterested in the  _feminine arts_ , then what  _was_  he interested in?"

"Playing games." The response comes almost instantaneously. "Captain Aizen liked word games. He spoke in riddles."

"Did you understand his 'riddles,' as you call them?"

"Not at the time. Not many of them. I merely played along."

"What do you mean, 'not many of them'?"

Hisana gives a small shrug. "Some of them I understood from my time in the districts. The Captain spoke using euphemisms that the rebels would use. I never entertained his dialogues because sedition is a capital offense. I figured he was merely dissatisfied with the state of affairs among the ranks. Nothing too unusual as far as I was concerned."

"Many men seem dissatisfied with the ranks?"

Ah, a personal chord had been struck, not only with Suì-Fēng, but with other members in the chamber.

"Some were for various reasons."

Byakuya represses the urge to cringe at his wife's brazen honesty. He can feel the paranoia increase with each passing moment. Whispers and rustling betoken the flurry of unspoken questions.

"You mean Captains Ichimaru and Tōsen?"

"I never served Ichimaru or Tōsen. I did not know of their dissatisfaction until their defection."

"Too poor for you?"

Suì-Fēng means her words as an insult, but Hisana does not flinch. She is well aware that her services were costly. That was the point. "Perhaps," she says, confidently, "but it is not my place to speculate."

"Moving on," Suì-Fēng snaps out, "So, besides serving Captain Aizen tea, you never—"

Hisana waits for the inevitable bombshell question, but, it appears that Suì-Fēng has trouble finding the words. "Only tea," Hisana responds as the half-spoken question dies in the air.

"It takes three visits before conjugal relations are available, correct?"

Hisana sighs, feeling somewhat dismayed at having to answer a question that  _should be_  common knowledge. Anyone interested in purchasing an oiran's time is already well aware of the established customs. Three visits are necessary before sex is a consideration. "Yes," she answers, belatedly.

"According to your recollection and the records, Aizen visited you three times. Customarily, the third visit would result in consensual copulation."

"Customarily, but, as I testified to earlier, he was uninterested in any sort of relations. He merely wished to play his games and drink tea."

"You were not his regular oiran?"

"No. Sakuran was his courtesan."

"Any reason?"

"I care not to speculate as to why he preferred Sakuran's company. She was a very accomplished oiran."

"Was?"

"She is deceased. Not long before I left, she was found dead. Natural causes, they said."

"So, you served him tea three times, and then?"

Hisana exhales a small sigh. "I did not see him again until the wedding, which was many years after."

"He was in attendance?"

"Yes. I paid him no particular mind."

"After the wedding?"

"On occasion, I spoke to him during events. Nothing personal. He was on several ethics committees that I was involved with for business purposes."

"Did you realize, at any time, that he was interested in defecting?"

"No. He seemed to be a model captain."

"But you said he was dissatisfied with the ranks?"

"I took it nothing more than commonplace, work-related agitation. I never thought twice about it."

"What was your involvement in the rescue of your sister, Rukia?"

Winter fills Hisana's violet eyes—frosted amethysts. "Captain Ukitake asked if I would escort him to the Central Chambers. He mentioned that he had business dealings with the Central 46. Having experience serving and working with the Chambers, I agreed."

"Where did you get this  _experience_?" Suì-Fēng interjects before Hisana can complete her thought.

"Every month, the Chambers require the service of several oiran. Occasionally, I was sent to Seireitei as tribute. As the Lady of the Kuchiki House, I work with the Chambers on business matters."

"So you were familiar with the schedules and inner-workings of the Central 46 Chambers?"

"Intimately."

"So, you escort Captain Ukitake to the Chambers, and, then, what?"

"We discovered the massacre."

"Then?"

"Captain Ukitake ordered his Vice Captain to aid in the matter."

"Renji Abarai?"

"Yes."

Suì-Fēng lifts her head. "He was jailed in the Sixth's cellblock, correct?"

"Yes. I went to the Sixth to convey Captain Ukitake's wishes."

"Your husband released Abarai, then?"

"Yes," Hisana responds, features blank and eyes cool.

Byakuya watches, quietly amused and somewhat perturbed at how  _well_  his wife lies. It is another one of the courtesan's special talents—the selling of small lies and grand delusions.

"Then?" Suì-Fēng continues.

"Then, I escorted Vice Captain Abarai to Shihōin manor, where he obtained the shield."

"What happened afterward?"

"I went into labor." Hisana tilts her head to the side, as if  _daring_  Suì-Fēng to inquire into the details of childbirth. "I  _assume_  Vice Captain Abarai and my husband aided my sister as she is still among us."

"At no point, you were aware of Aizen's plans?"

Hisana shakes her head. "I never knew."

"What was the nature of your relationship of Ichimaru and Tōsen?"

"I knew of them through my husband. We were cordial toward one another during events."

Suì-Fēng pauses a moment. Her arms fold across her breast, and her lips twist at the thoughts—untold—that fire away. "That is all."

Hisana takes her leave without a stray word or spare glance. She is the picture of cold austerity, and, briefly, Byakuya wonders if her icy stare is merely intrinsic or if she acquired it from years spent at Kuchiki manor.

Silently, he abandons his post seated among the circle of captains to meet his wife outside the chamber. She stands, dismayed but diplomatic. The thick mahogany doors loom over her diminutive frame when the sight of him stays her feet. "Milord." She bows her head, respectfully.

"Forgive me," he murmurs, and, soothingly, he places a hand against her shoulder. She seems so remote, so untouchable. He wishes he could have done more to protect her from  _this_ , this spectacle.

Her gaze remains fixed on the wooden floorboards. "There is no need, milord." A strain builds in her voice, tattering the edges of her stops and starts. "The ones deserving of blame have all fled." Without hesitation, she closes the physical and emotional distance that separates them as she steps into his arms.

It is a rare moment of submission for his wife. Hisana has yielded to the demands that nobility requires in the public sphere—to be prim, proper, and aloof—but sometimes, in her unguarded moments, he finds the woman with whom he fell in love, the woman he enjoys in their private quarters. She is warm, kind, and, at times, even vulnerable.

Right then, exhaustion has eclipsed her better judgment, and, instead of eschewing the vulnerability that comes with heavy emotion and fraying wits, she leans on him. And, he remembers there is no greater pleasure than feeling needed by his wife.

"Brother," Rukia's voice cuts through the quiet fog of their tender moment.

Hisana stirs in his arms, turning her head slightly to glimpse the friendly intruders, Rukia, Renji, and Ichigo. Contrary to Byakuya's expectations, Hisana does not pull away. Her warmth continues to seep through his robes. The pressure of her frail, but recovering body continues to sink against his chest. He can feel the extent of her lethargy, of the fatigue that racks her body. It is what keeps her fast against him, and, just when he thinks he has mastered his guilt, it bubbles up again in his chest.

He should have done  _more_  to protect her.

Without a bat of her eye, Rukia continues to stroll toward her siblings, having grown accustomed to seeing their displays of affection. Renji and Ichigo, however, inch closer, muscles locking with each step, as if they are closing in on a viper pit.

Renji's reticence is easily explainable. Gestures of romantic affection are rare in Seireitei, and even rarer among the nobility. When they occur, they are subtle—a gentle glance here or a soft nod of the head there—and easy to miss.

To Ichigo's apprehension, Byakuya gives little consideration. Mortals are odd, and their customs are inaccessible to a logical mind. From Byakuya's experience, a simple embrace seems tame in comparison to the living's vulgar tongue and overwrought expressions of  _love_.

Rukia stops within arm's length and bows her head. "Sister. Brother."

Slowly, Byakuya feels his wife's warmth recede from his body, like waves pulling into the sea. Reflexively, he tries to reclaim her, but years of etiquette bests him. He lets her go with a heavy breath and a hard blink.

"I will escort Lady Kuchiki to Shihōin Manor," Renji offers, voice soft. "My inquiry isn't until later in the day."

Byakuya appreciates the offer, but he refuses with a cold, "No." He has made arrangements to have their things returned to  _his_  estate. There will be no more Shihōin Manor, and, as far as he is concerned, he hopes never to have to spend another night with  _that woman's_  presence so oppressively close.

"It isn't—" Renji begins, politely.

But, before Byakuya can reiterate his wishes, a clear, jovial voice stops him.

"Why if it isn't the lovely Kuchiki family." Shunsui, bedizened in his gaudy, pink kimono and turquois hakama-himo, moves like molasses down the corridor.

If there was ever a tenor or lilt that made Byakuya think a favor was forthcoming, then this was it. And, judging by who it is, Byakuya does not question his initial reservation. He merely waits for the proverbial shoe to drop.

"Lady Kuchiki, stunning as always in red," Shunsui continues in his affected manner, dipping his head impishly toward the Lady. A boyish smile splits his lips as he snakes an arm around Hisana's arm and ushers her down the corridor. "Never worry, Byakuya! I'll make sure she gets home safely." A careless, sidelong gaze and the untamed locks of Shunsui's long, chestnut mane are all Byakuya sees as the two turn the corner.

Byakuya's eyes widen at the suddenness of the large man's sprightliness. His mind can barely comprehend  _what just happened_. More importantly, what does Captain Kyōraku have in store for his  _wife_? Nothing good, he can only assume. Nothing good at all!

* * *

"Now, you must be wondering—" Shunsui begins, voice soft and inviting, as he bridges the distance of their relative heights. His breath is warm, like the sun's beams at noontime, and smells of expensive liquor. The fragrance of rice wine isn't as pungent or as  _heavy_  as Hisana initially expects, given the rumors. No, instead, it is bright and gentle, reminding Hisana of the sunflowers that bloom against the gates of the Kuchiki garden in summer.

A quick glance into the Captain's earthy eyes, and Hisana is grasping for the threads of their conversation. The pause is expectant, as if he is  _waiting_ for a response.

_Now, where were we?_

Her eyes flicker up and to the left as she replays the last of his words. "You're going to ask for a favor." Hisana's very candid observation catches the Captain off guard, but he recovers with a wry chuckle.

"That obvious?" he says, teasingly.

Her glacial stare melts, icy crystal by icy crystal. It is true. Captain Kyōraku is charming, if occasionally devilish.

"I heard rumors," she murmurs as they cross into the sunny afternoon. Bracing against the harsh light, Hisana shades her eyes, fashioning a makeshift visor with her hand. At least under the veil of liquid gold, she is safe from the senior Captain's probing gaze. It is strangely inviting and strangely invasive all at once. Too many years spent in the company of her husband has inured her to Byakuya's quiet, philosopher's stare, which is seeing without  _seeing—_ a gaze into the blurry abstract. Captain Kyōraku, however, stares into your  _soul_  with a practiced positive regard.

"Rumors?" he says. His brows fly up, and his grin lengthens. No matter how hard he tries to sound and look  _innocent_ , there is a hint of scandal in his baritone.

"Yes. You approached the Shihōin along with several other noble families regarding financing."

"Ah, yes, how is little Yūshirō?"

"Well," Hisana says, not for a second missing the devious twinkle shining in Shunsui's eyes  _or_  his clear equivocation. "But, you did not approach Yūshirō," she observes, evenly.

"Ah, of course," he says, as if he is slowly beginning to  _remember_. Of course, he has never  _forgotten_. Captain Kyōraku may be good at playing the fool with his boozy stagger and hearty chuckles, but Hisana is quite aware that one does not hold his rank for as long as Kyōraku has without keeping his wits about him.

How much of Kyōraku is man and how much of him is  _myth_? Hisana is only beginning to wonder, but she digresses. "Lord Shihōin holds the purse strings."

For obvious reasons, the 23rd Head of the Family requires much mentoring and help managing the clan affairs, given his relative inexperience.

Shunsui's smile slowly morphs into a grin. A wolfish grin. "What did Lord Shihōin convey to you, milady?"

Hisana quirks a brow. She has not pinned Captain Kyōraku, not in the least, and she does not delude herself, either. "I agree with Lord Shihōin's assessment," she murmurs, talking past Shunsui's question. There is no need to tell him what he already knows.

His lips twitch at the finality of her assessment. "I thought as much."

"That does not mean that I am not sympathetic to your side, Captain Kyōraku. Without the Central Chambers available to allot the Gotei 13 their budgets, financing a war  _and_ running the units becomes impractical."

"Indeed," he agrees, voice quiet as he waits for her inevitable rejection.

"However, the Kuchiki Clan is not a  _charity_ , Captain. Without the Central Chambers to give adequate representation to the needs of the nobility, our duty to provide financing to the Seireitei—including the Gotei 13—has been extinguished." Indeed, it is a contract, one that all of the Families have agreed to honor for practical reasons. One of those reasons being to leash the Gotei 13. No one wishes to return to those barbaric times when the balance of power ran to the man with the strongest sword.

The flicker of understanding that lights Shunsui's eyes tells Hisana all she needs to know. The Captain understands her terms: Install a new Central Chambers, and, then, they can have their funding.

"You see, I thought you would say something like that." He rakes his fingers across his scalp, pushing a few stray locks back. His boyish smile returns, but that devious glint in his eyes continues to burn, like a wildfire. "So, I thought I might assuage your reservations by proposing that we put the Central 46 back to working order."

Hisana does everything in her power  _not_ to cringe.

In truth, she should be  _elated_  that the Gotei 13 has realized there is a power vacuum that they should redress. But, there is something undulating in Captain Kyōraku's voice that makes her uneasy, like he's about to propose something horrible.

"Captain Ukitake," he begins, as if reciting his fairer half's name will pacify the doubt swirling in her head and strangling her breath. "He and I think it would be a good idea to involve the Kuchiki Clan in the selection of the new Central 46."

What little color that found its way to Hisana's cheeks immediately flees at the proposal. Bled of her vigor, her complexion turns gray, like goose feathers. "Oh?" She can almost feel the next request. Its immediacy hits her hard, knocking the breath from her lungs.

 _Please don't_.

"Specifically, we request your assistance in the matter."

_Why?_

* * *

_What fresh new hell is this?_

Byakuya, tired from the needlessly long day filled with endless questions, stares blankly into his garden. His eyes burn from lack of sleep yet they keep their focus.

It is his worst nightmare.

He has dreamt of  _this_ , this  _very instance_ : the moment when his wife, gentle and proper, takes tea with a  _heathen_.

His heart seizes before dropping like a stone to the pit of his stomach.

 _This cannot be_.  _Surely, there must be a mistake_.

He blinks—once, twice, three times—all the while hoping to clear his eyes of the black clad nuisance that assaults his senses. Yet, there it is, no matter how much he wishes it not to be so. The long, lean lines of a woman draped across a blanket continue to agitate him. Her long form stretches out, basking in the warm glow of afternoon. With her head supported on her elbow, her long, tapered fingers toy with the edge of a tea bowl. It is all very intentional. If she had a tail, he has no doubt she would swish it for  _effect_.

Indeed, only Yoruichi Shihōin could turn the very act of  _ignoring_  him into a  _production_.

"Leave," he says, pointed and assured despite his immense displeasure.

Slow and graceful, Yoruichi Shihōin arches her head. A wicked smile curls the corners of her lips up, and she fixes him with a look that would break lesser men. "Little Byakuya," her voice  _trills_ , as if she is speaking to the family  _pet_.

He ignores her intentional  _insult_. "Leave," he repeats, voice bladed. A tempest begins to brew in his stare, but he masters his features well.

Yoruichi Shihōin, however, is not the type of woman who easily submits to  _anyone_  or  _anything_  besides her own whims. Her amber eyes harden and narrow. Wild, untold machinations light her gaze before she returns her attention to Hisana. Within seconds, the two women erupt in a fit of giggles.

Every single muscle in Byakuya's body locks and tenses. Something terribly wrong has occurred. Is this one of those  _infernal_  traps? The ones that Yoruichi is so  _fond_  of hatching at a moment's notice?

Immediately, he tilts his head, as if to inspect the women. If only intentions could be discerned so easily….

"He was always such a  _disrespectful_ kid," Yoruichi says, taking a long sip from her tea bowl. "Glad to see nothing has changed." Her gaze catches him in her peripheral vision, and she smirks.

Hisana smothers her smile behind the sleeve of her red kimono. Her eyes, however, squeeze close in amusement. When she reopens them, her expression falls. Wide eyes and flushed cheeks replace her gentle delight.

Cold tendrils of excitement shackle her heart. "Lord Byakuya?" she calls.

A whirl of activity confronts her. She can barely make heads or tails of the kinetic blur until the Shihōin Lady and the Kuchiki Lord break from their skirmish.

Yoruichi emerges the apparent victor, perched on the stone wall with a smile plastered to her face. "Another thing that has never changed," she calls, tauntingly. "I will always be your better in every way, little lord!"

Byakuya raises his head and shoots her a knowing stare, as if to announce his own personal victory. Whether he will ever best her flashstep remains to be seen, but he did succeed in forcing her from his residence.

Yoruichi gives a slow shake of her head before disappearing in a whirlwind of dust and spiritual particles.

Hisana lowers her eyes to the lukewarm liquid in her tea bowl. A small smile lengthens her lips as soon as she feels the heat of her husband's gaze against her cheeks. "Lord Byakuya," she murmurs.

"Excuse the Shihōin's failed attempt at a leader," he states rather flatly.

Hisana's smile widens as she lifts her gaze to meet her husband. "Lady Yoruichi is very spirited."

He has  _other_ , less  _generous_  words to describe her, but he humors his wife's civility as he takes seiza beside her. "What news from Captain Kyōraku?"

No use in preamble.

Hisana's smile grows tortured under the weight of the worries unleased by a single question. "Lord Byakuya," she begins, throat tight and eyes glued to the blades of grass lining the blanket.

He waits. Ever silent. Ever patient. He waits for his wife to find her nerve.

Hisana's brows furrow. Her lips slope into a slight grimace, and she closes her eyes for a brief moment. "I do not think I am capable of the task that Captain Kyōraku demands."

Byakuya stirs at his wife's sullen expression. It is not in his nature to sit idly by while his wife struggles with a commitment, especially a commitment that has been improperly hoisted upon her. And by a reprobate! A scoundrel, no less!

Steeling her heart, Hisana's hesitant gaze finds her husband through her mental haze. "The Gotei 13 wishes to install a new Central 46," she murmurs.

Byakuya leans forward, hanging onto each syllable and waiting for the  _bad news_.

"Captains Kyōraku and Ukitake think it would be wise to involve our family in the selection."

"Absolutely not," he says, quickly discerning her next thought. He simply will not allow the Gotei 13's power grab to involve his House, let alone his wife.

"I do not think it is quite so simple, Lord Byakuya. Not anymore."

Hisana rests her small hand atop of his. Her flesh is pale and cold to the touch, and, instinctively, he stokes warmth into her skin with his thumb.

She is correct. Things are not quite so simple now. Likely, Soul Society's days of quiet normalcy are long over. All that remains are pieces of a torn unity and a misplaced faith.

 


End file.
